


roots

by nepentheosileus



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Drabble, Gardening, Gen, Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 15:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14523969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nepentheosileus/pseuds/nepentheosileus
Summary: She sees him on his knees in the public viewing plaza like some kind of spectacle, dirt on his hands and smudged on his brow, and it’s quite the sight. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his face reads determination as sweat drips down his cheeks, slides over his chin, gleaming, and perhaps the oddest part of all -- in his hands is cradled a medium sized planter housing the scrawny branches of a baby tree.





	roots

**Author's Note:**

> unashamedly posts blueghost even though I'm 98% positive I'm the only one in the fandom that actually likes this ship :')

  
She sees him on his knees in the public viewing plaza like some kind of spectacle, dirt on his hands and smudged on his brow, and it’s quite the sight. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his face reads determination as sweat drips down his cheeks, slides over his chin, gleaming, and perhaps the oddest part of all -- in his hands is cradled a medium sized planter housing the scrawny branches of a baby tree.

 

It’s the calmest she’s ever seen him, and almost trancelike does she wander over.

 

From this close she can see the sunlight reflecting off of his eyes. “What are you doing?” She asks, voice deceptively flat despite the curiosity welling within her.

 

When he glances up at her he almost doesn’t seem to recognize her, but then his brows are furrowing and his lips are twisting like he’s tasted something sour. He eyes her up and down as if confirming that she’s really there, that he isn’t mistaken, and once he seems satisfied -- or perhaps dissatisfied if his tense posture is anything to go by -- he redirects his attention back to the plant in his hands. She almost expects him to ignore her, but he clears his throat and says, too casually, “Zaizen Aoi,” by way of greeting.

 

Aoi frowns. “You didn't answer the question.”

 

“Believe it or not, that had been my intention. Please leave.”

 

His pale hands busy themselves with the careful removal of the tree from the planter, and much like his own she finds her eyes strangely focused on the task. Soil breaks off from the brown lump he pulls away with and spills between his fingers, collecting on the ground below. He shifts forward on his knees and deposits the tangle of dirt and roots and whatever else people put in their planters into the hole he’d previously dug, securing it, and then brushes some more soil onto it until it’s fit snugly into the ground.

 

She watches, captivated, until he turns back to her looking very much annoyed but significantly less hostile.

 

“You’re still here,” he says, voice inflectionless, and she nods.

 

“I am.”

 

Pursing his lips, he stands, not bothering to try and brush off the dirt on his hands as he moves over a few paces and kneels down before a new planter and tree. Looking behind her she notices that there’s about seven others that have already been planted, and she can’t help but wonder how long he’s been here or how long he plans to stay.

 

The image of him gardening is still strange, although a small part of her whispers that it really isn’t all that surprising given his deck and the fact that he seems wholly convinced that a tree is his mother. Watching him confuses her, because isn’t he supposed to be the bad guy? The enemy? Granted they’d already moved past the fighting and opposition by now, but that certainly didn’t make them allies or, dare she think it, friends.

 

He’d killed her, once.

 

So when he holds out a hand to her without actually looking at her, a small shovel resting in his palm, she likes to think she has every right to bewilderment.

 

When she doesn’t immediately accept the tool he sighs, and although he’s still not looking at her she gets the distinct impression that he’s rolling his eyes. “If you’re just going to stand there and watch then you might as well be helpful,” he explains, and it hardly answers any of the questions running through her head.

 

“You… want me to help you plant trees?”

 

“It’s better than what you’re currently doing, which is unsettling, by the way, so please stop.”

 

Aoi resists the urge to fidget. She wasn’t nervous; she didn’t really do nervous.

 

But this was Spectre, who’d killer her, once.

 

“Alright,” she agrees after a beat, reaching for the shovel still held out to her, and he lifts his eyebrows. Finally he’s looking at her, and although he doesn’t look particularly fond, his eyes aren’t as cold as before. She supposes they have to start somewhere.

 

“I’ll show you how,” he says, and Aoi nods and kneels beside him.

 

 


End file.
